The Tables Turned
by a.lakewood
Summary: Dean’s been there for Sam in the wee, dark hours, through countless nightmares and psychic visions. There comes a time when Dean must let Sam be the strong one. gen


Title: The Tables Turned  
Author: alakewood  
Characters: Dean, Sam (gen)  
Warnings: none, spoilers for the pilot and AHBL  
Rating: PG  
Summary: _Dean's been there for Sam in the wee, dark hours, through countless nightmares and psychic visions. There comes a time when Dean must let Sam be the strong one._

---

Dean could remember how, when Sam was just a baby, he was so quiet. He'd just stare with those big eyes; watching, learning. Mary always said he was such a perfect baby – he rarely ever cried.

Dean remembered that Sammy only _really_ cried when Dean ignored him; and there were those few times he'd started that sniveling whimper while he was sleeping – perhaps he had sensed something that no one else could.

But in those moments, Mary would pull Sammy from his crib and sit with him in the rocking chair, swaying gently as she sang to him. "Hush a bye baby, in the tree top…"

--

When Mary had died, Sammy began crying more often in his sleep. Dean was the one to take him from his crib – real or make-shift, whichever it happened to be at the time – and rock his baby brother gently until he calmed down, just looking up at Dean with wide eyes.

Sammy kept having nightmares – sometimes it was every couple of months, sometimes as frequent as a few times a week. Dean was almost always there to bring him back.

--

Sam was thirteen or fourteen when he'd told Dean that he wasn't a baby anymore and Dean didn't need to take care of him – he could deal with his bad dreams all on his own.

That had lasted all of a month, until Sam had a nightmare in which he watched Dean die – torn apart by some shadow demon that Sam couldn't see. Sam woke, screaming Dean's name, and his brother was instantly beside him on the bed, holding him. "Shh, Sammy," he soothed, stroking his hair. "It's okay – just a dream, just a _bad_ dream. I got you, Sammy. _I got you_."

"Promise me you'll never leave me," Sam said, voice rough, eyes shining, clutching Dean with everything he had.

"I won't."

"_Promise_."

"I promise that I'll never leave you."

In the end, it was Sam that left.

--

They rarely talked when Sam was away at school – they were worlds apart, what could they possibly have to say to each other? It was John going missing that bridged that gap, taking Dean to Sam's door.

In time, Dean learned that Sam still had his nightmares. Eventually learned that they were sometimes _psychic visions_.

--

It took a while for Sam to confess his premonition about Jess. He never told Dean about how much he'd wished his brother could've been there to comfort him through the aftermath instead of having to face Jess and lie to her about not being able to remember the nightmare that was so terrifying that it left his heart racing like he'd just run a marathon. She'd just rub his arm gently and tell him, "It was only a dream. Go back to sleep."

--

In the two years that they were on the road together, Dean was there _every single_ time Sam had a nightmare or vision. Beside him, telling him, "I got you, Sammy. I got you."

After John died, Sam's nightmares tended to be about losing Dean. Sometimes, he'd just leave. Most times, he'd die fighting the good fight. A few times – the scariest dreams – he'd die at Sam's hands. They were worse than the premonitions of Jess's death.

He'd never tell Dean about those, either.

--

After they killed the Yellow-Eyed Demon, Sam's visions stopped. His nightmares were more sporadic. However, that's when Dean's started.

Dean had never had a nightmare until after he made the deal. He usually just brushed them off; told Sam, with downcast eyes, "It's nothing, don't worry 'bout it." He never could look Sam in the eye when he was lying.

--

Sam let him keep the charade up until the night Dean woke them both, yelling, "_Sam!_" The exact helpless urgency in voice as the night Sam died.

"Dean!" Sam clutched his brother to his chest, rocking back and forth slightly. "I'm here, Dean. I'm here."

Dean's hand was fisted in Sam's t-shirt. He was breathing heavily, harsh gasps through clenched teeth. "Sammy."

"Tell me."

At first, Dean just shook his head. This wasn't how it went. He took care of Sam, not the other way around. But Sam was looking at him with those wide, honest eyes. "I died. But I could see you – was like I was _right there_. And…I couldn't stop you. Couldn't save you. Wasn't you anymore, Sam." They locked gazes. "Promise me that no matter what happens, you stay on our side." There was a time when that request would've been regarded with mockery. Like Sam would ever cross over to the Dark Side. But, in reality, it didn't take much to lure somebody across that very fine line. They'd both toed it.

Sam held Dean a little tighter as he looked away. "I promise."

The roles were reversed and the tables had turned, and Dean allowed himself to be taken care of.

---


End file.
